


only with a whisper of please

by hlundqvists



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: D/s relationship, Idk what to tag this as, M/M, New York Rangers, Rimming, Spanking, disobedient!sub!Marc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlundqvists/pseuds/hlundqvists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Marc just <i>likes</i> to break the rules. He likes to be punished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	only with a whisper of please

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://martybiron.tumblr.com/post/73820243163/is-there-anybody-in-the-room-you-kind-of-look-at) little exchange between Marc and Henrik at the latest fan forum. 
> 
> Also, this is for [Ras](http://ifonlynotnever.tumblr.com/). Because she's the worst Henke/Marc influence ever.

Marc knows better, he really does. He’s learned this lesson before on several occasions, being punished in a new way each time to try to make it stick. Honestly, he _knows_ what is deemed as disobedience and is fully aware of the consequences. Sometimes, he just likes to break the rules.

Sometimes, he just really likes to be punished.

This would be one of those times. He’s aching, sprawled naked across Henrik’s lap and taking smack after smack to his rear with a muffled moan. 

"I told you to behave," Henrik’s voice is a growl, sending a shiver down Marc’s spine. "And you disobeyed."

Another smack. Harder. Louder. Marc bites back a moan.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Even without looking, Marc knows that Henrik has his hand poised; ready to deliver another smack — probably even harder — if he doesn’t answer. 

"I’m sorry, sir."

"For _what_?”

"I’m sorry for disobeying you, sir."

The anticipated slap doesn’t happen. Instead, there’s the sensation of muscles shifting and lips pressing to his shoulder. It’s not an action of complete forgiveness, but it’s the first step to it. Marc cranes his neck back, twisting to look at Hank. He knows what he needs to say and doesn’t waste any time. “How can I make it up to you, sir?”

Hank’s eyes seem to burn into his soul, making Marc somehow feel even more naked than he already is. “Get on the bed.”

He scrambles off Hank’s lap, moving onto his knees on the edge of the bed. The sheets are soft against his skin, goosebumps rising as the cold air of the room hits him. He wants to reach out and touch Hank, pull that warmth back towards him. He doesn’t. No, he’s not going to break anymore rules tonight.

He kneels and he waits. 

"Close your eyes."

Obedience is immediate. Everything turns dark. The only sounds that fill the room are that of Marc’s breathing and the light clinking as Hank pulls his belt off. 

Marc knows what’s coming next, and immediately shifts to the proper position. He lowers himself down until his butt is resting on the back of his shins, palms pressed flat to his thighs.

The sound of a zipper being lowered reaches his ears, light ruffling of fabric following. He bites back a moan. In his mind, Marc can see it perfectly; Hank pulling his already half hard cock out, eyes locked on Marc’s body while he palms himself before stepping closer to the bed.

It’s instinct, to part his lips and let Hank use his mouth however is seen fit. His jaw relaxes, allowing for more room; the second he gives, Hank takes. 

Hands grasp at his hair, pulling harshly while his mouth is fucked relentlessly. Small gasps escape from Hank’s lips as he thrusts into the heat of Marc’s mouth, quiet murmurs of _so good, all for me, mine_ filling the air. 

The praise goes right to his cock, making it twitch as he moans around Hank. God, he loves this. Being used like this. Every single thrust has the head of Hank’s cock hitting the back of his throat, making him fight for air as he swirls his tongue and swallows the way Hank likes. He takes it until he can’t breathe and he’s choking, lungs desperate for air as tears slip from the corners of his eyes. 

Only then does Hank pull out, fingers drifting over Marc’s cheeks to wipe the tears away. “Open your eyes.” He does, blinking a little and finds himself being kissed softly. Sweetly. “Turn around, on your hands and knees.”

He does, more than ready for what he’s about to be given, how he’s about to be used.

Fingers knead at his ass, making his hips twitch. He moans softly, teeth digging into bottom lip, and just when he thinks that Hank is going to make him wait, the sensation of tongue licking him open is there. A shudder runs up his spine, moans turning into soft mewls as Hank fucks him with his tongue.

He fights to keep himself from grinding back, demanding more. He slips up once, whimpering and pressing back which earns him a hard slap to the hip and a muttered command, “ _Don’t_ move.”

Hank’s nails are digging into his hips, the attention being given to his ass is more enough than to make him come but he _knows_ that’s he not allowed, not until he’s told it’s okay. That’s the one rule he’s never broken, the one rule that never gets changed.

Just when he’s ready to beg Hank to stop and _fuck him_ , Hank pulls away. Sometimes Marc can’t help but wonder if Hank is mind reader. (He knows, logically in the back of his head, that Hank just knows how to read his body.)

He’s tugged closer to the edge of the bed, can feel Hank’s cock pressing between his ass. An arm curls under his waist, lips pressed to the back of his ear. “Who do you belong to?”

“ _You_.”

The gasped word seems to suffice because then, finally, _finally_ , Hank lines himself up and presses in. In, in, in, until Marc can’t breathe because he’s so completely filled and _fuck_ , no one fills him like Hank does. No one ever could.

Immediately the pace is brutal. Hank wraps one hand around Marc’s neck, squeezing lightly while he fucks hard into him. It isn’t until a burning sensation starts spreading up his thighs that Marc realizes Hank is still completely dressed. The fabric rubbing against his skin with every single motion. It pulls a loud moan from the back of his throat. 

Hank sucks Marc’s earlobe between his lips, biting down hard before letting go. “You’re mine,” he growls out between thrusts. “All mine. My little cockslut. That’s what you are. Just a slut, desperate for my cock all the time. Isn’t that right?”

Marc cries out a mantra of ‘yes, yes, yes’. He can’t manage anything else. Not when Hank is fucking him like this, hitting his prostrate with precision. 

"Naked and shamed and _all mine_.”

The hand around Marc’s neck squeezes, the other sending a harsh smack to his ass. 

It’s too much, too much for him to take much longer. He’s moaning loudly, can feel himself growing closer and closer to the edge. It’s no good. He can’t come yet. He can’t. Not yet.

"You’re my good boy." Hank’s lips are against his ear once more, tongue flicking out to soothe the bite from before. "My good boy who won’t break the rules again, will he? You know better, don’t you? I’m the one in charge, I’m the one in command. Not you."

"Yes, yes, God, sir, you’re in charge, please, please, sir, _fuck_ , please.”

Hank slips a hand to Marc’s cock, curling around it and squeezing. The action elicits a whine, Marc trying so hard to not collapse. 

"Please _what_?”

"Please, please, let me come, please, can I come now, oh, God, please—"

There’s laughter against his ear, the hand around his cock stroking him in time to the thrusts. The pace slows, then quickens again and Marc sobs out when Hank flicks his thumb over the head of his cock.

"You can come, baby."

And he does. He cries out, body arching as his climax hits him hard. Hank is still fucking into him, all control gone at this point as it takes only a few more thrusts before he’s joining Marc over the edge.

Warmth fills Marc’s ass, a part of him wanting to beg Hank to stay inside him for the night. He holds back the request; he doesn’t deserve that kind of reward tonight.

Hank pulls out of him carefully, lips pressing to his shoulders while he goes slack, dropping down onto the bed. His eyes are closed, breathing heavy; he’s hardly aware of Hank cleaning up until he feels the coolness of a cloth against his skin and he lets out a soft hum of contentment.

It doesn’t take long for Hank to join him on the bed, clothes finally off, and wrap an arm around him. 

"You okay?"

There’s worry in his tone. There always is.

Marc smiles, rolling over to burrow his face against Hank’s neck. “Yeah, I’m good.” He kisses at Hank’s collarbone lazily, smile still in place as fingers thread through his hair.

"I love you, älskling.”

"Love you, too, meatballs. Can we sleep now?"

Hank nods, pulling the sheets over them before wrapping his arms securely around Marc. It’s warm, pressed against Hank and Marc soaks it up. His mind is a happy, calm blur and he can hear Hank’s heartbeat against his ear while he drifts off to sleep.

He knows he’s safe here. Taken care of.

And he knows that he’ll be taught a firm lesson the next time he feels like breaking the rules.

In fact, he’s counting on it.


End file.
